cha chig
by moth pupy
Summary: ichijou's ultimate fantasy is an unusual one: pretending the casino he manages is literally his ass


Ichijou didn't think it would get this far, or how it even came to be. It was a total secret that he could share with no one. Not even Murakami. He was too ashamed to admit it himself, but the boiling desire welled in him constantly, threatening to burst, and it was the only way he could fulfill it.

He sat at his desk, the glow of the television sets with video surveillance casting a soft, sickly light, accentuating his enormous, wicked grin that grew wider and wider as he watched the screens.

"Yes...yes...good..."

He cast a glance out his window at the fading city lights, only his colorful and bright marquee making the scene less serene than it should have been in nature. A little line of saliva dripped from this mouth as he watched a flock of pigeons float past his window.

"Bird," he said, his voice resounding with a thoughtful and euphoric tone.

Ichijou tilted his head fractionally as he let his eyelids grow heavy, his smile remaining on his flawless countenance as he let his mind wander.

You see, Ichijou has a secret. Call it bizarre, call it unnatural.

But every day, he likes to pretend to pretend the casino he manages is literally his ass.

Ah, such a thought was just heavenly. He let his entire body slip into a state of relaxation as he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes completely and letting his auburn locks fall over his shoulders gracefully.

The opening to the casino is no longer cold unfeeling concrete and drywall, but his own plump and doughy buttocks, free for those who would like to rub and knead them as they pleased.

He opened his eyes to take a quick glance at the surveillance cameras again. He saw them, those filthy, dirty dogs, dozens of them, spending their lives' earnings away, spending so much for so little, fiddling with the pachinko machines, working the handles, oh, oh god, what if they were toying with his ass like they toyed with the knobs? What if-

He shuddered at the thought of his cheeks being twisted and pinched like those unfeeling plastic handles. That would be much too rough. No, he would prefer gentle, loving treatment.. Like squeezing the chilled drinks of his beloved patrons' between his cheeks. He would carry them to and fro, offering snacks and drinks to whomever needed it after a hard day of chance.

"Oh, I'm much too generous, aren't I?" he sneered, rubbing a hand over his clothed rear then slapping it loudly.

The clap of his cupped hand against the taut fabric…Oh, how it made him shiver. He wanted people to use his ass. It was a wealth of riches and fortune, of future and inspiration. He slapped himself once more, then twice more in quick succession like the beginning of the opening song to The _Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time_.

He kept slapping, and slapping. He was a pachinko machine, his hand was an angry player who would kick and thrash at it, enraged that he lost. "Oh yeah, YEAH, GIVE IT TO ME, YEAH!" he growled, on his knees in his office chair, one hand supporting himself on the desk, continuing to beat his ass. It was almost as if he thought that if he hit it for long enough and hard enough, little silvery pachinko balls would come spewing out of his cheeks.

Once again, he quivered from the thought. The idea of cold metal spilling from his duodenum gave him such a thrill. He bucked into the desk, eventually knocking his knees on the edge of it and toppling over the top of it where he seized and gyrated, his hand slapping roughly at his tender reddened cheeks. "UMARETEKITAWAKE JANAI YO," he hollered as he beat himself.

But no, he wasn't satisfied. He needed to do more, he knew his fantasy would never be fulfilled, it was impossible, but he wanted more of a likeness of it. He calmed himself for a moment as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants.

"Poops," he muttered thoughtfully as his hand slapped idly around at his perineum. Tiny hairs lined his asshole which he stroked delicately, like a pet cat. His heart fluttered in his chest and he had to take a moment to settle, even this early on in his ministrations.

"Ugh," he groaned, grimacing a bit. Apparently he had missed shaving there, oh how he hated stuff to get stuck there when he took a shit. But that had to be taken care of later. The only think he could completely focus on now was savage arousal clouding his mind.

He pinned his index finger behind his thumb momentarily and flicked his tender anus one, two, three times. The pain and pleasure was overwhelming and before he knew it he was sporting a mighty firm erection. "Boobs boobs boobs." He crooned to himself as he kept abusing his ass, slapping his crunched up hand over his chest like an orangutan.

"Ahahaha, sorry honey, out of Packy," he chuckled as he rubbed the head of his cock. "All this persistence isn't-Ah-Going to get you anywhere...you're dismissed...go home, that's enough for today everyone-Ah-for-today-Ah! Ah!"

"You see, sorry but...we're..." he stroked his left cheek tenderly. "Closing for maintenance tomorrow, so we have to close early...We have to do some...renovations..."

He folded his thumb over the swollen mushroom head and dipped his pointed, manicured fingernail into the split leading into the urethra. He had went out and got his nails done earlier on today and they were so pretty he couldn't help it. They were black and pink with reindeer stickers on them; just like his favorite sweater. He then slammed his cock on the desk and swirled around a hefty sum of yen in a stack that had been laid out on the surface previously.

"UGH!" Ichijou groaned, thrashing his cock about on the cold surface while he fingered his entrance, "UGH, OKAY, TIME TO LOCK UP THE SAFE..."

From the corner of his eye he spotted a bag of Bugles chips, and inspiration flashed through his mind.

He dashed ass-first to the bag, crouched daintily, and withdrew his thick finger from his entrance to pull on either cheek so he could grasp the slippery bag between them. He picked it up, waggled it around a bit to make it shake, and then took it out and held it before himself. He tore open the bag haphazardly so the snacks spilled all over his expensive afghan carpet. He would have to clean that up later, but the few that remained in the bag he snatched up in his grubby little paws and snorted them down..

All except for one.

"Aha" he grinned, cackling to himself as he positioned the bugle on his finger. Like a delicious claw. This was a special one that he saved for a very special purpose...

Ichijou jammed the snack into his anus and prodded it around. It hurt so much he howled like a banshee. He waggled his tongue around like a nasty snail or something and danced about the room, his legs bowed from his little spelunking adventure.

He shrieked as he came, white drops spattering all over the floor. Panting, he brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. The bugle, now smashed into pieces, fell to the floor.

"TASTY," Ichijou bellowed as he stamped across the room, his limp cock waggling as he smashed each and every bugle on the floor with his feet. He wished he had a video camera at hand so he could post this as a crushing fetish video.

"YES, YES!" he shrieked, almost at full volume, "THIS IS HOW WE RUN THINGS AROUND HERE, YOU HEAR ME, YOU DOGS? KUKUKUKUKUKUKU!"

Sooner or later he ran out of juice (apple juice) and collapsed on the floor, his cock twitching with glee as he dreamed of his casinoass.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Ichijou's heart froze as he heard a familiar voice.

"Sir? Are you a-"

Ichijou's right-hand man, Murakami, was standing gape-mouthed in the doorway. His cock became erect through his pants and darkened them with piss or ejaculate, whichever was more plentiful. He then dashed out of the room.

Ichijou rolled around on the floor in a laughing fit, bits of semen and bugles sticking to his skin as he thrashed around. "Ahaha haha, ha, Murakami, you really wouldn't believe it, the casino, THE CASINO, IT WAS REALLY MY ASS!"

"Murakami?" 


End file.
